First Impressions
by jibber59
Summary: In the beginning... Or, When Ezra met Chris (and the gang). (ATF universe. Rating for adult language)
1. Chapter 1

Ezra cast a tired eye around his apartment. It didn't have all that much in it to begin with, and now, with most of his belongings packed away, sparse didn't begin to describe it. He picked up the one glass he'd left available and the five-year-old scotch. If you're going to get hammered, it might as well be worth the effort.

The warm breeze on the balcony was calming, which was something he needed right now. This view, this kind of evening was his version of perfection. It was one of only a very small handful of things he was going to miss about this town.

"No," he thought to himself, "that's not entirely fair." No need to blame the city for the transgressions of a few idiotic federal bureaucrats who couldn't come up with an original thought if their worthless little lives depended on it. Much easier to resort to the tried and true and frightfully clichéd perception that had haunted Ezra from the moment he abandoned the family 'business' to enter law enforcement instead.

In retrospect, it had been an incredibly foolish choice, and he still couldn't say exactly what had motivated it. He'd be lying if he failed to accept that seeing the look of abject horror on his mother's face hadn't factored into the choice.

"Ezra, how could you even contemplate anything so ludicrous? In the first place, there is simply no money to be made in the field, and equally important is the shame you will bring on the family name."

He smiled now at the comment, although at the time he been far less amused.

"The family name, mother dear, has been tainted by thieves, liars, conmen, scalawags, and general reprobates since Noah led the animals onto the ark, and there was probably a Standish there trying to sell him travel insurance. The family name is far and away the largest hurdle I shall have to overcome if there is to be the remotest chance that I can make this effort viable."

With the blessings and support of not a living soul, Ezra had contacted the only man in law enforcement he felt he could talk to. Agent Williams had used him a few years earlier as part of a sting operation against a gambling ring that was cheating students at the university Ezra attended. Well, that he was registered at. Attending classes rarely seemed to fit into his schedule.

The experience had been an unexpected rush for Ezra. The challenge, the need to think on his feet. The somewhat surprising satisfaction of the job itself. And it didn't hurt that the case provided a secondary sense of justice for him. This organization was both vicious and pedestrian, and in his experience and opinion, if you couldn't put some flare and imagination into a profession as time honoured as gambling, you shouldn't be in the game.

Williams had told him at the time that he had the makings of a top undercover man, giving Ezra one of the longest laughs he had ever had. He finally managed to shake his head in total disbelief before walking away. Three years later, he was ready to reconsider. He never did ask how many favours were used, how many strings were pulled, to get him into the FBI. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. After slogging through the dreadfully boring routine of training and accreditation, not to mention multiple security interrogations, he'd found himself a federal law enforcement officer. He couldn't believe how much he enjoyed it. And it wasn't long until word of his natural chameleon-like tendencies spread throughout the agency, creating an ongoing demand for his services.

Granted, there were a few hiccups along the way. There were those who thought he had come too far, and had done so too fast. That opinion was especially prevalent in those who had been stars at the Bureau until he appeared. So, when a bust went bad and cash went missings the rumours started. Just a few whispers, nothing to worry about Williams had assured him. And Ezra wasn't worried. He done nothing wrong.

A few months later a suspect insinuated Ezra had tried to shake him down for a bribe. A little incentive to look the other way. Again, there was, of course, no proof. But the seeds of doubt previously planted now began to grow. The consensus: No wonder he fit in so well with the criminal element he was regularly infiltrating. He was one of them. Word leaked out on his family background, the less than savoury details becoming fodder for the gossip mills.

And what about the lifestyle he led? Fine wine, fancy cars, penthouse apartment. All on an FBI salary? No, things all made sense to the small minds of the FBI hierarchy. It wouldn't have been that hard for anyone to discover Ezra had amassed a tidy little nest egg in his gambling days. Properly invested, it now afforded him the luxuries he should so cherished. But why let an annoying detail like the facts get in the way of a good frame up.

Finally, the rumours and innuendos were too overwhelming to be ignored. His testimony was no longer wanted in court. His assignments dried up to the point most days were spent basically counting paperclips. And, when he did have a job, the scorn and contempt from his coworkers was palpable.

The last straw had come when backup failed to arrive in time to save him from a nasty beating at the hands of the targets of his investigation. He lay in a hospital bed for the three days with no visitors. Even Agent Williams stayed away. He did get to enjoy the company of the internal affairs investigator, who not only wouldn't place blame on the negligent agents involved, but strongly suggested the injuries were the result of nothing more than a falling out between thieves. Ezra had left the hospital and gone straight to the Bureau office to hand in his resignation.

Now, a week later, he stood looking out over the city, finishing off his third drink of the evening and still trying to decide where he'd go from here. The prospect of hearing his mother's inevitable "I told you so" was definitely not appealing.

He frowned, turning his head to look into the room at the sound of a knock at the door. What was the point of living in a secure building if unexpected guests could simply appear at the door? He reluctantly headed over, looking up to the small monitor that showed him who was disturbing his evening.

He didn't recognize the face, but he had no doubt the man was a cop of some description. He carried himself as such. Cool, assertive, with a good measure of intimidation that simply came naturally. The wardrobe was unimaginative – basic black head to toe, but it did manage to make a statement. Ezra debated for about a second whether or not he should just ignore him, but quickly concluded this was a man unlikely to just disappear. So, he opened the door.

"You're Ezra Standish." It was not a question.

"Yes. Thank you, but I had already made that determination. Would you care to try to guess my age or weight? I'm sure I can find some sort of prize if you are successful."

"They warned me you were a smart-ass."

Ezra raised the glass and saluted. "They were correct."

The man didn't make a move. "You gonna invite me in?"

"I wasn't aware I had a choice. Or are you one of those night creatures that cannot enter without permission? I've seen most of the cinematic interpretations of the Dracula legend, and your attire certainly fits the criteria." Ezra waved him in with a small bow. "By all means, enter."

His uninvited guest walked deliberately, sizing up the environs as he entered the living space. "So, you're planning on leaving Atlanta. Got a new location in mind?"

"I cannot ascertain where that is your concern. Perhaps it would help if I knew who the hell you are." That got a small smile from the stranger.

"Name is Chris Larabee."

Ezra raised an eyebrow in response. This was an unforeseen complication. He knew Larabee, at least by reputation. There were few on the honest side of a badge who didn't know about the ATF agent. Larabee, and his team, were in the top 1% of law enforcement. They had an arrest and conviction rate that doubled the rest of the agency. The rest of any agency.

Ezra ran through his mental Rolodex. Buck Wilmington was the second in command. Hell of a lot smarter than anyone gave him credit for, which made him a tremendous asset. Vin Tanner was one of the best sharpshooters not currently wearing a military uniform. Josiah Sanchez was their profiler. The FBI had tried to lure him away more than once, he was just that good. Nathan Jackson had the street smarts to know his way around. And, if memory served, was a top-notch field medic as well. Ezra struggled for a second to remember the sixth man. Youngest one on the team. Dunne. First name escaped him at the moment, but he did know that if there was anything this fellow could not do with the computer, then no one had figured it out.

Ezra looked up to see Larabee staring at him, not blinking.

"So, you're familiar with me?"

"No need for false modesty Mr. Larabee. Excuse me, Agent Larabee. Your reputation, and that of your team, is quite well-known. What I am at a loss to ascertain is what you are doing in Atlanta, and more specifically, at my home."

He could imagine nothing he had done to run afoul of the ATF. Of course, he had done nothing to run afoul of the FBI either, yet he was up the proverbial creek with them. No reason to expect this was any different. He couldn't help but wonder when the DEA, ICE, and Lord knows what other alphabet soup group would be knocking at his door. He felt a fleeting moment of hysteria creep up on him, and quickly swallowed the remain scotch he still held tightly in his hand.

"Was hoping to have a little chat with you."

"I had not planned on entertaining this evening Mr. – Agent Larabee."

"Chris will do just fine."

"No, it won't. As I was saying, I am not set for company. Don't even have another glass available for you." Ezra tipped most of what was left of his bottle into the glass he held.

"Looks like a glass isn't the only thing not available. Don't worry about it, this won't take long. And do me a favour? Don't drink anymore of that until after we talk. I'd like you to be relatively sober."

"As long as it is only a relatively, I can comply. Which of my perceived transgressions would you like to discuss?"

Chris was caught off guard by the question. "Transgressions? I'm not here about anything you did wrong Standish."

"Well it certainly can't be about something I did right. There have been far too few such occurrences recently." Ezra decided he might not be quite as sober as he thought he was. Perhaps sitting down would be a good idea. He headed back towards his chair.

"Okay. I'm going to start over here. I came to Atlanta from Denver when word got to us that you had left the FBI."

"I see good news travels quickly in our community."

"I'm here to offer you a job." Ezra had reached the chair, but turned so quickly at Larabee's comment that he dropped to the floor. The ATF agent was at his side instantly.

"Well shit. Didn't see that coming. You okay?"

Ezra stared. "Tell me Mr. Larabee, is there a history of insanity in your family, or is this a personal aberration?"

The man actually smiled again. "Neither one Standish. I want you on my team."

"In the name of all the saints, why?"

"Would have figured that was obvious. We are the best at what we do, but we have a gap in the team. You would be the perfect fit."

"Are you in need of an albatross? An encumbrance? A scourge on the face of Lady Justice?"

It was Chris's turn to stare in disbelief. "That's what the FBI idiots are saying? God. I knew they were dumber than dirt, but I had no idea it was this bad."

Ezra settled onto the edge of his seat. He still held onto the glass, which thanks to his years of experience had not lost a single drop when he fell. He looked into it, unwilling to meet Larabee's eyes.

"Standish, we want you because you are the best at what you do. Far as I can figure, you're likely the most natural undercover man ever to carry a badge. We are a team in need of that skill set."

"I ask again: are you in need of an agent who cannot be trusted? Who cannot appear in court without having his credibility challenged? Who cannot possibly provide you with any admissible evidence?"

"So, you did what you were accused of? Stole, took bribes, put lives in danger? You're as crooked as they say?"

Ezra stood a little too quickly, but managed to keep his balance. "Fuck you." He would've taken a swing at him if he had the focus to do so.

Chris smirked. "Yeah, that's what I figured. Since you haven't done it before, I don't expect you will now." Larabee pulled a business card from his pocket and placed it on the end table. "Name, number, address of the office in Denver. Need an answer by Monday." He turned and left, not waiting for Ezra to respond.

Ezra wove his way towards the door, the shock and alcohol playing equal parts in his discombobulation. He watched the hallway monitor as the elevator door closed. Was that real? Was any of that conversation real?

The card he picked up showed it wasn't a dream or some bizarre hallucination. He'd been offered a job. A job in - he looked at the card - Denver. Denver? Really? He glanced out the window, remembering the warm breeze he'd been enjoying earlier. "Well that won't be happening there," he reminded himself. "That's one mark in the no column."

He sat again, placing the last untouched drink on the table. Surely there were more reasons than inclement weather to reject this ridiculous proposal.

Well, first and far and away foremost were the reasons he had presented to this Larabee fellow. Ezra had no desire to try to do his job haunted by accusations. He had already learned of the perils of operating when surrounded by men who neither trusted nor respected him. He shifted in the seat, aware of the discomfort of broken ribs still on the mend. And why would these men, this team, trust him? They had to be aware of the accusations. Clearly Larabee was. Protests aside, the man could not dismiss all the speculation out of hand.

But the job had been offered. He'd come all the way to Atlanta to do so. There was no logical reason behind that action that ever Ezra could see.

He had no idea how long he sat in the chair, mulling over the options, outcomes, considerations and possibilities. No matter how he looked at it, no matter what criteria he used to review it, it simply made no sense. It was a ridiculous suggestion.

It was, at best, a fool's errand. Not just a detour on the road to a better future, but a detour that could be, at the very least, a life altering and quite possibly life-threatening.

When he slowly came to the awareness that is a significant time had passed, he stood and stretched carefully. The glass on the table beside him was glistening with condensation from the melting of the ice. It would leave a ring on the table. Well, it was all rented furniture, and once he left on Sunday, it really wouldn't matter. He picked up the glass, considered for a moment whether or not to drink the warm and watered-down beverage and decided against the action.

He was a little surprised to realize he'd made up his mind. He picked up the phone, punching in the number on the card. As expected, his call went to voicemail. ""Mr. Larabee, you are either extraordinarily clever, astonishingly naïve or certifiably insane to endeavour to conscript me into your esteemed and decidedly skilled ensemble. I cannot help but contemplate how much time shall pass before one of us laments what I am about to say. I accept your offer." As he hung up the phone, he paused to wonder if there was anywhere in Atlanta he would be able to purchase a warmer jacket.

M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7

 _TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

"You want to try saying that again Chris? Don't think we heard you right." Buck Wilmington was doing everything he could to control his tone, trying to remember he was speaking to not just his friend, but his oldest friend. And his boss. Still, it was proving to be a challenge.

"You heard me right. You've all been saying we need a full-time undercover expert for the team. Well, I found us one."

"No. What you found us is a shitload of trouble looking for a place to land."

"Watch it Buck."

"He has a right to be concerned Chris." Josiah intervened before tempers got hotter. "This Standish fellow does have quite a reputation."

"So what? Our whole team has a reputation and that never seemed to bother anyone."

"Bit different. Our reputation is as troublemakers. His reputation is just plain trouble." Nathan, like the rest of them, did not look happy.

"Whoa! He has got a huge file." JD's voice came from behind his monitor. "It's not pretty."

"What the hell are you doing Dunne?"

"Buck said we should find out what you got us into, so I'm looking." He explained. After tossing another angry look at Buck, Chris flipped his attention back to JD. "By hacking into FBI files. Do I have to point out the illegality, not to mention the irony of that?"

"But I do it all the time."

"Shut up kid, before you bury yourself," Vin advised.

JD sank at little lower in the chair. "Didn't mean anything by it."

"Look, since he found the file –" Buck started.

"No! I find out any of you have gone into there for any reason and I will suspend your sorry ass. Got that?"

"You do get that just makes us all think there's something to hide?" Vinh glanced at Chris, hoping his face was looking calmer than he felt about this.

"The man has had a bunch of accusations thrown at him without a bit of evidence to back them up. That's all you need to know."

"Not true Chris. We need to know there's no evidence because there was no wrongdoing. Not just because he's good at hiding it. You're asking us to trust this guy with our lives."

"Actually Nathan, it's kind of the other way around. The first job is lined up -sending him undercover, and he's gonna be counting on all of you much more than the other way around. Doubt this discussion would give him much reason to do that."

"Difference is, we've got nothing to prove."

"Neither does he. Least ways, he shouldn't."

"How do we trust him if we know he's hiding something?"

"Because everybody hides something Buck. Basic human nature, right Josiah?"

"Most people have a few things in their lives they would prefer to keep secret, present company included," he admitted.

"I'd be more worried about someone swearing to be an open book. And being accused of something doesn't mean you did it – right Vin?"

"No," Vin recognized his own hypocrisy in this. It hadn't been all that long ago he'd faced accusations in a case of a wrongful death. "But I was cleared," he pointed out.

"That's because **you** were given the chance to clear yourself. Standish never got that. They just kept piling on the accusations. He became the scapegoat for everything that went wrong." He looked around at his team, who, for the most part, now at least seemed willing to listen. "While you're looking up his file JD, you might want to check his arrests. Until all the rumours kicked in, he had one of the top arrest rates in the Bureau. And to this day, half the crooks he took down don't even know he was responsible. He's that good."

"Then why the rumours Chris?" Buck was not about to let this go.

"Because he was that good, until one case went bad. Yeah, there was some kind of leak and things went south. Every time since then something went wrong, Standish was the easiest place to target the blame, so they did."

"And he didn't fight it?" JD wondered.

"Of course he did. But it's damned hard to fight innuendo."

"Chris," Buck dug in again, "bottom line is that there are way too many questions here. One case could be jealousy or spite, but from what you won't let JD tell us, this is more than one case. And like I said, his reputation stinks. Not just the FBI. DEA, ICE, you name a federal or even state agency, and I guarantee they've heard the stories. Stories that will screw our reputation along with his. So, are you going to tell us, or do we ask for it straight from the horse's mouth?"

"That, Mr. Wilmington, would most likely be the preferred option, since the story would be being told to the horse's ass."

They all turned to see a well-dressed, suave looking man leaning comfortably against the doorframe, looking for all the world like he had not a single care. In reality, Ezra's heart was pounding so forcefully he had trouble believing it was staying in his chest. Once again, he thanked lady luck that he had long ago perfected his poker face and calm demeanour. They were, at this point, the only things keeping him from complete collapse.

"Wasn't expecting you today Standish." Chris stood and walked towards the new agent, wondering if he was going to be around long enough to make introductions worthwhile.

"That would appear to be obvious. I find it often advantageous to do the unexpected. Of course, it has its negative side as well."

"So it seems. Well, since you're here, might as well meet the team."

"Introductions will not be necessary, Mr. Larrabee."

 _Damn_ , Chris thought, _he was already quitting_.

"I have taken the liberty of familiarizing myself with your associates.

Mr. Sanchez's reputation is well known. I am aware of at least three agencies who would sacrifice their photocopying budgets to have him in their employ. The same can be said for Mr. Dunne. The cyber crime division at the FBI have approached him at least twice I believe." JD nodded mutely.

"It is a pleasure to have the opportunity to make your acquaintance as well Mr. Tanner. I would have liked at some point to have had the occasion to discuss the techniques you utilized to develop the extraordinary hand to eye coordination it takes to master the sniper skills you possess. My skills in that area tend to be limited to small sleight-of-hand manipulations. And Mr. Jackson. Yet another formidable member of such an impressive team. Emergency medicine's loss was law enforcement's gain. There is no doubt, with your reputation for care and detail, you would excel in any field you choose."

He turned slightly. "That leaves just you, Mr. Wilmington." Buck braced himself. Given how well Standish had familiarized himself with the others, and given his devil-may-care lifestyle, he knew he would be an easy target. And in light of the first exchange they'd had, he fully expected to be hit with both barrels.

"I wonder if Mr. Larrabee realizes how fortunate he is to have you as his second-in-command. In addition to the years and variety of experience you offer, you have the humour to diffuse awkward moments, loyalty beyond compare and a tenacity that would shame all others. The exact character of the man I would want at my back." Buck simply stared in dumbfounded silence.

"You seem to know a fair bit about us, son." Josiah noted. He was surprised at the slight grimace he spotted from Standish. Apparently, the man was not fond of being referred to by anything less formal than mister."

"I make it a point to determine as many facts about people I expect to be dealing with as is possible. Thorough review and preparation can help ensure there are no surprises. Or misunderstandings."

"Ezra," JD ventured, "or would you prefer Mr. Standish?"

"Whatever title you are comfortable with is fine. As it doesn't appear I will be staying, I cannot see that it makes any real difference."

"What the hell do you mean you're not staying?" Chris demanded. "I waded through a mess of crap to get you on board here, and you're just walking out?"

"I make it a practice not to stay where I am not welcome. I have ample evidence to support my contention that such a habit will extend by life expectancy."

"So, you don't trust us?" JD asked, his original intended question forgotten.

"I don't know you. I have find it dangerous to trust people I do not know."

"All that talking you just did sounds like you tried to get to know us," Vin speculated. "And did a pretty fair job. So, what's the problem?"

"But what I said was only a part of the story Mr. Tanner. There were other discoveries that came up in my quest. Details, speculations, anecdotes, allegations. Known to all of you." He looked around at the curious faces.

"Accusations, disproven of course, against Mr. Tanner. Concerns over the reckless nature of Mr. Wilmington. The youthful inexperience of Mr. Dunne. The quick and unpredictable temper of Mr. Larrabee. Shall I go on?"

Buck took a step forward in anger. "We are the best team in the ATF, and you're throwing the chance to work with us away based on rumours and gossip –" he cut himself off. "Oh shit."

"Well said Mr. Wilmington. Gentlemen." He turned and left before any of them could respond. He had made it as far as the elevators when Chris came into the hallway, shouting after him. "Standish, get your ass back here!"

Ezra didn't turn, but instead raised his fingers in something between a salute and a wave, and entered the elevator.

7-7-7-7-7-7-7

Ezra avoided looking in the mirrors that lined the elevator. He knew he had a spurious smile plastered on his face along with his overall "ain't life grand" posturing firmly in place. He couldn't stand to look at that deception. As the doors opened, he took a deep breath and headed through the lobby, smiling and nodding a greeting to anyone he passed. The only outer sign of the inner turmoil was the fact his hands were in his pockets. Anyone who knew him, and so few did, would recognize the act of hiding small tremors of panic.

He headed for his car before registering he was in no shape to drive right now. Instead, he detoured around to the side of the building, where he'd noticed benches on his way in. He found the one furthest from all the activity and try to settle himself there.

"Idiot. Damn dense, foolish, naïve little idiot. What did you think was going to happen?" He stopped when he heard his voice, not realizing he'd been speaking aloud.

It didn't stop the rant from continuing in his head. How could he, for one moment, have thought things would be any different? This only proved what he should have seen in Atlanta. What he should have seen coming the day he made his ridiculous career choice.

Well, no more. He was done with it. There was no town, no state he could go to where his reputation wouldn't destroy him. He had little doubt that the most desolate Alaskan outpost had somehow gotten word of his persona non grata status. Maybe it was time to fall back into the Standish traditions. He shuddered unconsciously at the thought.

"No." Again, he was startled by his voice. That wasn't the path he wanted. He done that for more than the first half of his life, and had hated almost every moment of it. Much to his mother's everlasting disappointment, he was not designed for that life. This was what he did. This was who he was.

He looked up at the office above. Larrabee had seen that side of his character. Despite it all, he had seen something that made him decide Ezra Standish belonged at the ATF. And, somewhere in that giant bureaucracy someone with the authority to make it happen, agreed. That meant two people had at least a modicum of faith in him. And, when you thought about it, that was twice as many as he'd had when Williams recruited him into the FBI. It wasn't much to work with, but then again, he'd always enjoyed beating the odds.

7-7-7-7-7-7-7

"I've checked every hotel in town Chris. Can't find a registered anywhere. I could put in an APB on his car."

"Are you nuts? That the last message we need to send to him now," Vin answered before Chris had a chance.

"We won't be sending any message if we can't find him," JD replied

"Look, for all we know he has friends here in town he's with, in which case we won't likely be able to track him. And before you ask JD, no I do not want you trying to find his phone location either. At least not yet."

"Yet?"

"He may yet show up for work tomorrow." Chris responded with only minimal conviction. The team looked every bit as skeptical.

"Why would he?" Vin asked. "After all of this."

"Because I already sent him the info on the first job, and I know he reviewed it."

"And that's good to be enough to bring him in?"

"I don't know." Chris shrugged before admitting his doubt. "Probably not." He had been rethinking the entire idea from the moment the team started to raise their concerns. And, as much as he was loath to admit it, they were valid concerns. Not to mention that the initial brief, but decidedly unpleasant, team confrontation did not bode well for the outcome of the venture. "At this point, I'm not entirely sure which answer I want."

"Well, can't believe I am about to say this, I have to admit I'd kinda like to see him come back." Chris turned, surprised by Buck's comment. "He was right Chris. I was a horse's ass. I know better than to judge someone that way. Especially someone from the Fibbers. The Bureau is the worst for putting the blame somewhere, anywhere. I should've at least given him a chance."

"So why didn't you?"

Buck shrugged, then nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice from the door.

"Because he was looking out for the best interests of his team. I believe I stated that was his nature. Tenacious, loyal, the man who watches your back."

"You forgot horse's ass, Standish."

"No. I didn't." He smiled, giving them a quick flash of a gold tooth.

Chris walked sternly to the door. "Don't you ever walk out like that again. Not the way we work around here."

Ezra stared at him for a moment then turned his eyes down and nodded. "Understood."

He looked up, hazarding a glance around the room. They weren't exactly the friendliest smiles he'd ever seen, but at least he didn't think anyone was about to throw him out the door.

The most encouraging look came from young Mr. Dunne. But then he seemed like the eager type who adopted stray puppies and wayward souls. It was hardly a challenge to win that support. Mr. Sanchez appeared to be reasonably comfortable with the arrangement. But that could have simply been intrigue over the profiling possibilities Ezra was sure he presented to the man. Wilmington had an interesting combination of genuine contrition over his rush to judgment, and underlying suspicion that this remained a questionable choice for his team.

Ezra had little doubt that Mr. Jackson would present a challenge. He could see no trust whatsoever coming through on that front. Still, his research had shown the man to be the most cool-headed and self-controlled member of the team. Hopefully, if he had enough time he would be able to bring him around.

The unexpected, and unnerving turn of events had Larrabee now being the one that worried him a bit. Yes, the offer had come from there, but Ezra was getting the distinct impression second thoughts were flooding in. He hoped it was just the less than stellar first contact they all had. But, far more likely it was that the reality of the complications that might arise from this experiment had him anxious. Ezra knew his own reaction, to turn and run, had done nothing to encourage any confidence. It was a mistake that would take a while to rectify. If he could.

His gaze landed last on Mr. Tanner, the final member of his new working team. He was not surprised to see Vin Tanner staring back at him. Sizing him up, making his assessments now that the initial impact had faded. He doubted this man was the type to let a first impression interfere with his way of seeing things. He **was** surprised to see a quick smile cross Tanner's face.

"Okay then Pard. Might as well get yourself settled in over here." He pointed to the desk next to his own. "Chris said you reviewed the case file were working on. What do you think?"

 _I think_ , Ezra commented to himself, _this is going to be an interesting ride_.

M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7

The end…

… _for the moment. I am working on (along with a half dozen or so other things) a follow up on this. Everybody's early one-on-one moments with my boy Ezra. May be a bit before it gets posted, as I have sort of hit a wall with a few of the interactions. A couple of other works in progress may get published first, but I_ _ **promise**_ _to come back to this. Eventually "Second Chances" will get posted._


End file.
